Milk
by Shwatsonlocked
Summary: It all starts when John gets a text 3 years after. SPOILERS FOR REICHENBACH. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED IT. This is slash, please don't read if it's not your thing.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD! If you haven't seen Reichenbach, don't read this. My first Sherlock fanfiction. My first fanfiction in many years. This stemmed from a wonderful RP I had with a complete stranger on Omegle. She/he was John and I was Sherlock. Now, there's a lot of texting at the beginning, but that's how the role play started. We had the question "Twilight or True Blood." And both answered Sherlock as any true Cumberbitch would ;D That said, this has angst, it has fluff, it has lemon. If you can't stomach it, please stop reading at the break line because this site likes to delete any symbol I place and pick back up near the end. Please enjoy! Also, I would love some feedback ;D

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><p><strong>Milk<strong>

**By Shwatsonlocked**

John had woken up early for the weekend, having experienced another replay of Sherlock's death. On impulse, he'd grabbed his mobile and sent a message to a phone far beyond his reach. The message only said one thing. His name. The LED screen mocked John, its bright background and bold letter's that made up the text of Sherlock -JW. A quarter hour later, John thought he was insane. After all, only insane men get texts from the departed. But there it was, glaring him in the face.

_**Text Received 09:02:17**_

_**John, do you have milk at the flat?-SH**_

The real twist in his gut was how like Sherlock the text was. Someone was messing with him and John was in no mood for games.

_Text Sent 09:15:03_

_Sorry, you must have the wrong number... and the wrong name. Whoever this is, this is a sick sick joke. That man is dead-JW_

_**Text Received 09:16:08**_

_**Wait, John. Mycroft was supposed to tell you yesterday. I am alive and I'm coming home...if you want me to. I'm sorry I had to lie to you. It was for your own safety.-SH**_

John was wishing a horrible, gruesome death on the person sending these texts. There was no way this was real.

_Text Sent 09:19:24_

_This must be hell, a joke. It's been 3 years. -JW_

_**Text Received 09:23:49**_

_**Moriarty was going to have you shot. You, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I had to track down his organization and dismantle it. They had orders to watch you three.-SH**_

_**Text Received 09:24:01**_

_**If any of you knew I was alive, you would be dead.-SH**_

John hurled the mobile to the other side of the flat, letting out an angry shout. The broken man sat there, contemplating whether he was going to even go pick the mobile up. 'What does it mean,' John thought 'if he's been alive this whole time and couldn't even let me know? Is Sherlock Holmes worth anymore of my time?' Apparently he was.

_Text Sent 09:52:13_

_I watched you fall. I watched your broken body get scraped off the floor. I watched the world turn against you. I endured it all.. AND YOU DIDNT EVEN CONSIDER SENDING ME A BLOODY TEXT?_

**_Text Received 10:00:34_**

**_I landed in the truck outside the hospital. Molly helped me look dead, splatter the blood. You had to believe it John because Moriarty was right. I do have a heart. He was prepared to have it shot if I didn't jump.-SH_**

**_Text Received 10:15:02_**

**_I'll not bother you again. Goodbye, John. I apologise for causing you such pain.-SH_**

_Text Sent 10:15:03_

_Then why not be shot!_

_Text Sent 10:15:51_

_Sherlock.. don't you dare. -JW_

A new spout of fear griped John. If this really was Sherlock, he couldn't just let him waltz in and out of his life like a fairy princess. Not when John Watson's just getting Sherlock Holmes back. Blue eyes widened at the next message.

_**Text Received 10:18:13**_

_**I mean YOU. He'd have killed YOU John.-SH**_

There's some sort of saying about the stages of grief, but John can barely remember what it is. All he know is what he's feeling.

_Text Sent 10:29:27_

_But... but I'm not, you're not... JW_

'Denial' whispers a quiet voice in his head. 'Anger' he felt earlier.

_**Text Received 10:31:00**_

_**I'm not what John?-SH**_

_Text Sent 10:45:32_

_I read at your funeral. And my limp's come back. I need you Sherlock, I need you more than I do anyone else. Now please, PLEASE don't leave me again. -JW_

'Depression' John can't bear the thought of losing Sherlock because he's too stubborn to let him come back.

_Text Sent 10:45:24_

_You are married to your work. There is no contest -JW_

'Acceptance' though this is bitter acceptance. Accepting that he'll have a place at Sherlock's side, watching him deduce brilliant things, but not quite understanding what Sherlock really meant about having a heart.

_**Text Received 11:00:13**_

_**You're right, there is no contest.-SH**_

_**Text Received 11:02:01**_

_**You are part of the work-SH**_

_**Text Received 11:08:22**_

_**I've missed you John. I need my blogger.-SH**_

John took a deep breath and decided to make some light soup before responding. Honestly, with this shock, he didn't think he'd be able to keep anything down.

_Text Sent 12:03:43_

_Bored of the skull again? That's funny. I haven't touched my blog in 3 years, I could be rusty-JW_

A twisted version of bargaining. All 5 stages in one day.

_**Text Received 12:34:04**_

_**Please John. You know the skull has been in 221B all these years. I'm sure you'll do just fine blogging.-SH**_

_**Text Received 12:40:09**_

_**I believe in you John Watson.-SH**_

John takes a short nap on the couch. Thinking is painful, maybe if the ex-army doctor can get a couple more hours of sleep, it won't be so painful. When John wakes, he feels a little better. More hopeful. He pulls out his mobile.

_Text Sent 02:40:19_

_We have milk. -JW_

_Text Sent 02:55:33_

_But pick up some chocolate on the way home. Mrs Hudson will need it. -JW_

**_Text Received 03:07:56_**

**_Excellent. What kind of chocolate, John? I'm no good at the gift area.-SH_**

_Text Sent 03:12:47_

_Sugar coated rubbish that you hate. I owe you a punch in the face. so get some ice as well. -JW_

_**Text Received 03:26:14**_

_**Will I need plasters as well? Will you kiss it better after you punch me? Please avoid the nose and my eyes. I need them for the work.-SH**_

_Text Sent 03:34:21_

_Kiss it better; I thought we agreed never to talk of that drunken night out? Or, more like, you never mentioned it ever again under any circumstances. No need for plasters, I can stitch you up. -JW_

_**Text Received 03:39:58**_

_**Would you kiss it better anyway? I'm of the understanding that it helps. -SH**_

_Text Sent 03:43:17_

_If you asked me nicely -JW_

**_Text Received 03:45:01_**

**_Please, John, would you kiss me better?-SH_**

_Text Sent 03:50:50_

_Sherlock... -JW_

_**Text Received 04:06:22**_

_**Right, never-mind then John. It's fine if you don't wish to.-SH**_

_Text Sent 04:12:05_

_But I do. More than you know -JW_

_**Text Received 04:31:11**_

_**Open the door John.-SH**_

John frowned, putting down his mobile, walked over to the door of the flat and opened it, his arm still on the door frame. Any leftover colour drained from his face, because this was the moment of truth. It wasn't a lie. Right in front of him was Sherlock Holmes. As alive as he ever was. He had even managed to get his old wardrobe, and it still looked like he'd been sown into the outfits.

John cleared his throat and uttered the first verbal exchange they'd had since that day three years ago. "Hello."

Sherlock gave a small smile as their eyes met. The consulting detective motioned as if to move forward. "May I?" Sherlock was pleased to see that John was still wearing his jumper sets.

John stepped back slightly to allow his former flatmate inside, but three years of pain, anger and pure agony began to pulse through his bloodstream. John let Sherlock pass him, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling the all too familiar smell of nicotine, coffee and wool. Reopening his eyes, John put on firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder, and spun him round as his fist catapulted towards the sculpted cheekbones that haunted his dreams. John staggered back from the momentum and leant against the now shut door. John's voice was barely above a whisper "I'm sorry, but you deserved it".

Sherlock's head had whipped to the side with the force of John's blow. He touched his now tender right cheek and winced. Sherlock reached out and put his hand on John's shoulder.

"You're correct John, I did deserve that. Now, let me make it up to you."

Sherlock began to close the gap between them, moving his hand from John's shoulder to the back of his head, threading his long fingers though short blond strands. John's name ghosted out of Sherlock's mouth, mere centimetres between them.

John felt his pulse quicken; every nerve in his body sang out to the taller detective. John couldn't stand the tension and with every emotion he could muster, John laced his fingers into the black curly hair of the detective and yanked him forwards, meeting Sherlock's soft lips with his own, kissing him furiously. It wasn't sweet or gentle, it seldom would be with them. John clutched Sherlock closer and let himself fall back onto the door behind him, his body pressed up close to Sherlock's.

Pulling away and gasping for breath, John whispered. "Four years...I've waited to do that."

Sherlock let out a small deep laugh and the detective could see John shiver at the sound. Pressing their bodies closer together than what seemed plausible, Sherlock bent his dark head and starting laying passionate kisses along the column of his John's neck.

Murmuring between kisses, "4 years? I thought you weren't gay John. Although, I'm not going to argue about it." His grip tightened on John's biceps. "I need you John."

John's head fell back with a thud onto the wooden door, hiding them from the outside world. John pushed off Sherlocks suit jacket, not caring for any buttons that were torn off. He needed skin. To feel his heart racing against his chest. John groaned softly, feeling the kisses along his neck and looked at Sherlock.

"I'm not. It's you. The only man. The only man there will ever be. It's always been you Sherlock."

Sherlock jerked back in surprise. No one had ever seen him the way John saw him and if he wasn't mistaken, Sherlock could feel his heart beat even faster at the admission.

"You...you're the only," Sherlock swallowed thickly "person I've ever felt like this for John. The only person I'll ever have a heartbeat for." He pulled John forward, backing them toward the couch, falling backwards when his knees hit the arm. Sherlock slipped slightly shaking hands under his blogger's black and white striped jumper, separating from the kiss to peel it off.

John lifted his arms, aiming to help his lazy flatmate, but couldn't help but smile into the next kiss they shared. "I will never let you leave me again. You are mine Sherlock." His voice was husky and lower than normal, his pupils dilated and his hands shaking, desperate for the man lying now in front of him.

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><p>John stood up at the end of the sofa, pulling Sherlocks shoes off. "Are you sure about this?" John took a final moment to double check, as he knew this would be most likely Sherlock's first time- at least with a man.<p>

Sherlock let out a low groan at the sound of John's voice. Lust filled eyes locked with his soon-to-be-lover's and knew that this was the most sure he'd ever been about anything, even his deductions. Letting out a hot puff of air, Sherlock nodded. "I will never leave you again, I promise. Yours, John. Please make me yours." Sherlock reached out a hand to John, licking his kiss swollen lips.

John took the world's only consulting detectives hand, and twined their fingers together. John stared at the man before him. "Who is topping...me...or you?" he asked cautiously, unsure which Sherlock would prefer. John was surprisingly well informed and prepared for either, and he stared down at the man before him, his eyes growing darker by the second.

Sherlock leaned in, puffs of hot breath tickling and warming John's ears, and whispered huskily, "I do believe, my dear Watson, that I said to make me yours. I trust you."

John moaned lightly in reply to Sherlock's statement, and suddenly was filled with a new found energy. John growled softly and pulled open Sherlocks plum shirt, the buttons pinging in all directions, emitting another low growl at the alabaster skin in front of him. John then kissed Sherlock softly, moving down his neck, to the joint between his neck and shoulder, and bit sharp enough for Sherlock to recognise the meaning. "Mine."

Sherlock let out a short pleasured gasp at the bite and growled deep in his throat. Sherlock noticed something as he ran his hands over John's lightly muscled torso. "You're wearing too many clothes John." Sherlock let his piercing blue-grey gaze travel up and down length of his partner. "Let me see you. I want to see all of you."

John shuddered at his lovers growl, and sat back, yanking his t-shirt over his head leaving his tanned chest free to be inspected. A penny sized bullet wound was on his right shoulder, a reminder of the war. John frowned slightly before undoing Sherlock's trousers, and pulling them down the lithe legs. He then divested his trousers, the jeans thrown roughly to the side, his breathing juddered at the look of Sherlock's body.

Sherlock's breathing became shaky under the blue eyes of John and again at the sight of this wonderful man. He ran gentle fingers over the paler scar tissue in the doctor's shoulder before leaning up to worship it, first with soft kisses and then with warm laps of his tongue. He whispered a quiet thank you that the bullet had gone where it had. The self-titled sociopath couldn't imagine his life without having met John. Beautiful, wonderful, handsome John. His hands traveled down to the tan hips and gripped tightly in anticipation.

John bucked slightly as Sherlock worshipped the bullet wound he was so picky about. John looked at Sherlock and smiled softly, before letting his hands drag down to Sherlock's thin, taught waist, looking down and smiling again when the detective was laid there for him to stare at. John flushed red, and suddenly jumped into action. He growled again, and began kissing down Sherlock's chest, nipping and sucking at the small nipples on Sherlock's chest, before moving lower, finally his mouth taking in the length before him, sucking Sherlock in deep.

Sherlock let out small cries as John sucked at his pert buds but a loud gasping moan was the reward for his assertive lover. Sherlock's hips bucked involuntarily toward the wet warmth surrounding him and his hands sought out the blond hair that was slowly bobbing up and down. He ran his long porcelain like fingers through it, and it was starting to become a fetish for the consulting detective, before making a fist with some of the soft gold locks. Sherlock was going to be unable to form whole sentences if John kept sucking his sensitive cock like that.

John moaned softly, around Sherlocks throbbing manhood, and couldn't help but whimper at the tugs on his hair; he loved every second of it. John slowly pulled back to take a breath and sucked his own fingers to moisten them, before taking Sherlock back in his mouth- only to start teasing his entrance with two fingers.

Sherlock's head flew back at the new stimulus, exposing his milky pale neck. He started to feel heat pooling in his lower abdomen, but it felt like it was going to be too soon. Grasping for words and sweat running down his lithe body, Sherlock stuttered out "J-John-ugh-if y-you don't sto-AH!-op, I'm goin-ngg to!"

John immediately pulled his mouth away from Sherlock and smirked, sliding 3 fingers into he man in front of him, growling softly. He moved up Sherlocks body and whispered in his ear, "I want to taste you, want to watch you come undone for me." John smiled softly and rubbed lightly on the small nub of nerves that was Sherlock's prostate.

The inquisitive digits stroked and scissored in an exoctic rhythm, curling and gently prodding his silky muscles. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes lightly brushing his chiseled cheekbones. John saw him as unearthly in that moment, and he wanted him all the more. After working Sherlock through another digit, through the soft gasps and heady moans of his dark haired love, John pulled out his fingers from the quivering hole. Sherlock gave a short noise of displeasure at the loss, so John was quick to slick his hard member and prepare to join with his detective.

Sherlock's thoughts were a blur and all he could think was a mantra of 'John, John, John, please, yes and more.' Feeling something thicker than the fingers of the army doctor, Sherlock began to tense. John was starting to slowly push in, but the tense muscles were resisting the intrusion. John stopped his movement and put a hand under Sherlock's chin, bringing their faces close. With a soft smile, John mumbled a gentle "Relax Sherlock. It's going to hurt, but it'll get better. But only if you relax first." and kissed his partner in reassurance. Sherlock gave a small nod, trying to relax.

John went for two distractions at once, pulling his other half into a fevered kiss and reaching between them to gently tug at his semi-erect cock. So preoccupied with the kiss and the groping, Sherlock didn't notice John filling him until the bundle of nerves was brushed with the head of his lover's penis. Sherlock moaned loudly into John's mouth, tongue's battling with fervor. Certainly, Sherlock thought, nothing can feel better than this, but then John twitched his hips just so and the pale dark haired man was lost. They started moving their hips in some sort of magical rhythm, one much better than John's fingers, for this was skin on skin friction and it felt wonderful. Muscles clamped and legs wrapped around hips, toes curling, moans and gasps filling the air of 221B until the pair saw white explode behind their eyelids and screamed each other's names.

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><p>Bodies trembling with exhaustion and pleasure, Sherlock and John spooned together on their sofa. John looked at Sherlock through bright blue eyes and then down at the sticky mess they'd made of the sofa. Smirking slightly, John suggested getting a towel to wipe off with and a blanket to lay under. Sherlock could only nod sleepily, so John stood to get said towel and blanket. After they were dry and entwined under the plush blanket, John lay his head on the pale chest of Sherlock to fall asleep. As the last rays of the sun fell upon their forms, Mrs. Hudson peeked in and smiled at the sight of her boys together at last.<p>

The End

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><p>AN I know they didn't actually say "I love you" but I think what they did say expressed how they felt much better. Maybe I'll add a tag to this someday where they actually use the words, but I'm quite pleased as this is. I had no beta reader and wrote this after being up for over 24 hours. Please be kind if I missed something and remember to believe in Sherlock Holmes!


	2. PROMO FOR NEW STORY

Hey everyone! Just thought I'd promo for the new story I co-wrote with Jedi_Pirate Jaeh(aka scribblesonapage.) Our shared account is A Study in Schadenfreude here. This is a post-Reichenbach fic and has so far been called "refreshing." So yeah, I hope you'll go check it out!

And here's the summary to try and tempt you: John Watson's on the verge of leaving 221B behind. Until he receives a message that will change his life forever... "Text Received from Sherlock Holmes."


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